"chlorinated" poems
American city, your roads make me gasp,
Hold my breath with cancerous anxiety.
Your sidewalks,
Ancient ruins of time passed: A failed optimism for Utopian desire:
A house, a yard, a car for every person.
Now derelict, termite infested, but rented.
Chlorinated chemical water runs through rusted, moldy spickets to
Rinse pesticide seasoned vegetables.
And yet they remain so tasteless.
But who cares?
Suburban middle class zombies?
Created with media placed propaganda.
Born and inoculated with DisneypepsiMccocacola ideologies.
Oh Wal-Mart,
how we love your homogenized Chinese products.
Oh America,
how we love your multi-million dollar cathartic films,
They bring my mind to no place and inspire nothing.
Your theme park inspired retail caters to any identity I desire:
I am a professional,
My wallet lined with the best credit cards,
SUV, Hummer, Super boat, designer label, mall bought,
bleached teeth smile, with slick greasy hair style.
I'm cool, I pay for the gas.
Beep your horn, and rev your engine.
We are at war with each other.
Everyone get out of my way: road rage lifestyle: compete or die.
Big screen television dream.
Bought it at Target.
Open my cupboard: Macaroni and Cheese, delicious.
Ambian, Prozac, antibiotic, Listerine.
Collagen bovine beauty:
Manicure, pedicure, dye and wax
Acrylic nails, hair extensions
And silicone sacs.
Oh, American city
How we want to steal your money and **** your blood.
Chop your trees and cement your grass.
American city you are dead.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 6:22 AM UTC
I had a blue phase
But it wasn’t a sad phase
More of a ‘you’ phase
Because you are so blue
To your very core
But a happy overly friendly and helpful blue
With its sorrows hidden away in its rich depth
And purple undertones
After meeting you
And being with you
It’s impossible not to associate you with blue
Considering your slightly insane obsession with it
But it’s also funny
Since blue is the ocean, the river, the deep cool lake
Or the overly chlorinated public pool
And you can’t swim a stroke
Oh irony…
You are irony
The nice guy that wouldn’t ever hurt me
But who made me hurt myself the most
Trying to protect
The one I was already so close to
A relationship shouldn’t have been much of a stretch
But the one I ended up farthest from
The one who wrote melodies in scores
Just for me
But the reason I stopped playing
Music reminds me too much of you
You are music
The deep melodic kind that touches the soul
The way you touched my heart
Gently and sweet
So moving and tear jerking
In you sad purple undertones
You are rain
That slips through my fingertips
Leaving only the vague impression of ever being there at all
Only a slight bit of azure beneath my nails
But you are flames across my heart
Scarring deeper than you’ll ever know
Warmer than I’ve been in the longest time
You are the sun
Warming everything about you
And shedding bright light on all my flaws
You are wind
Whispering your way in through the cracks in my soul
But intangible as ever
Still you push through
Leaving blue in your wake
On my sunglasses
That block out the sun and your brilliance
Because it hurts so much when I’m so dull
My candles
That feed my pyromaniac addiction to flames
I’m just always addicted to that which can bring me pain
My clothes
The ones I bought just to please you
And to get your attention of course
Even my diary
Where all my laments over you reside
Blue
Like you
I had a blue phase
And I can’t seem to get rid of it
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
There is constant tension around the pool,
Yet the adrenalin is pumping in your veins
We are always ready for something in life - like a dramatic gunshot before a race,
However, a false start will set you back.
We are always eager at the beginning of a project, like diving into the pool, but how long can we keep this up?
The focus is on the finishing line, but there is always a sense of doubt in our minds.
You try not to compare yourself with the swimmer next to you, as your eyes glance in their direction while gasping for air.
Comparisons will be your downfall.
Often, you can see your goal in the distance, but negativity creeps in because there are always massive obstacles to get over.
You are edging forward, but tiring out at the same time in the chlorinated scented water.
Staying positive does not come easy when you are a step behind.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
there is blood and grime and rust already
in my backyard and on my hands.
the unlucky baby birds that fall down during june
into my over-chlorinated swimming pool
are ironic.
there are yellow flowers in my garden that i used to take pictures of
before i grew
bored.
and love became a hole
waiting to be filled.
and men
and life became predictable as windchimes.
and
i fell
into all the cracks.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
The trip would be flawless -
water splashing, echoed shrieks in chlorinated sunlight -
except for these baffling creatures
patrolling the pool
Up and down they go,
up and down,
staring daggers straight ahead
and daring you to get in their way
Rubber hats and plastic eyes,
folded skin, wrinkled
like deflated dinghies
doggedly paddling
their pointless journeys.
A bit like clockwork bath toys,
but not as entertaining.
The safety notices are wasted on them.
No petting?
I should ****** well think not.
Bombing? Ducking? Anything fun at all?
Up, down,
up
and down.
Relentless as the baddies
in a ZX Spectrum game,
stuck in their lanes,
joyless.
They were there when I was six
and they're still there, you know,
a few more wrinkles now,
up
(and down),
spilling out their black slick second skins.
Whatever it was they were looking for,
the search
isn't improving their moods.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 11:40 AM UTC
We have the slow and stumbling walk of a desperately unified group,
handicapped by our own disjointed versions of reality.
Each with unbelievable wonder,
each with uneven gait.
It smells of smoke - all the colors.
Also trees and whiskey and freshly chlorinated hair.
There's a praying mantis in front of me. He's a big one.
A boy my age stands below,
controlling the methodical movements of the insect sage.
They reach and bow and pray and walk in a circle with a unique unity.
The giant mantis looks at me and I run.
I only realize how quiet it is in this behind-the-fence-world when I hear those distinctly friendly giggles.
I'm pointed by these giggling fingers in the direction of perfect clown love.
Two painted faces dripping devotion from their exaggerated eyes.
Two pairs of suspenders over the violence of two hearts.
Four gloved hands with no limits.
And one striped leg under one striped leg through one striped leg over one striped leg.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
Time slipped away in the spring, in the muddy puddles and the rain, in the sweet-smelling flowers and the rain.
It rubbed circles into the small of my back,
whispered bittersweet apologies and tacked a sticky note to my corkboard.
“Remember to call.”
I forgot.
And I sit under the blooming tree
my bare feet soft against the grass
Time left me in the summer, in the sunny skies and the rain, in the sweltering heat and the rain.
It ran somewhere unknown, far, far, far away,
while I treaded chlorinated water and prayed that the fall would come sooner.
“You can call whenever.”
I didn’t.
And I sit beside the verdant tree
my bare feet hard on the pavement
Time was gone in the fall, in the whispered breeze and the rain, in the crinkling leaves and the rain.
But I had company in a glowing screen,
And as days turned to weeks turned to months I forgot about time altogether.
“Someone is calling.”
I hung up.
And I sit far from the dying tree
my bare feet resting on the couch
Time slept in the winter, in the miserable cold and the rain, in the blustery wind and the rain.
Numbers and names disavowed,
As “today” and “tomorrow” become “now” and “later”
“What is the word called?”
I don’t know.
And I cannot see the empty tree
my bare feet asleep on the carpet
Time has returned in the spring.
It looks me in the eyes,
profuse apologies pouring out from its lips.
“But you didn’t call.”
I blink. Didn’t I?
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC
I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up using my magic girl power
Chasing the boy
Who asked me to catch him
And here's the catch;
"If you can."
I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sulking away
Ignoring my frenemies
As I scorned at grown men
Leaning against the bar
Obviously wondering why,
Why,
I am not having any fun.
I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sneaking out
With the guy I've been exchanging stares at
We'd talk all night
I looked forward to weddings, though,
I never go to weddings.
My habits didn't change
Once we snuck out to the nearby pool
Took off all our clothes
And I was photographed, stark naked,
Amidst the chlorinated stupidity
I never go to weddings
They're too uptight
I held up a glass of champagne and yelled,
"And ***** you!" to the man with a blue portrait
Of me in his wallet
As he kissed his bride for the third time
I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up being a bridesmaid
Wearing a ridiculous outfit
Smiling through the pain of my own singularity
And realising that no one really celebrates the couple for them
We are selfish
I never go to weddings . . .
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
lost in a strange world
only sense we can find
Is in peering through the keyholes
Of locked doors
we bang our fists
and spread the spark
hoping its sent down wind
setting smoke to the answers within
were drawnto the fire
like moths to a flame
Unwilling to be tamed
by the safety belt of the world
smoke seeps from the lock
and we inhale deep
ravenous for
the taste of something
real
the burn we feel
goes undetected
among the drowning men
In this shallow pool
Of lukewarm genuinity
and over-chlorinated sincerity
but we breath the fumes in
with a whole new strength
we break down the door
unleash the deamons
begging for more
than this
unless
we become one
With the fears,
we become none
so we rise with the deamons
and we rise up
above the conscience
dont give a ****
because we never could fit
Within the boundaries
Of a newborn dying man
these unatainable boundaries
never could never will never can
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
Listen now, and listen well, Son.
Anything worth doing is difficult to get done.
Saying you are Brave is a fine thing to say,
But Courage can't wait for tomorrow, it starts today!
I know your scared, it's easy to tell
From the way you cry and way that you yell.
Control your fear, don't ignore it, and it may serve you well.
Wait. Let's slow down. Walk toward the deep again.
At three feet deep the water is up to your chin.
So, more shallow than that is a safe place to play
Enjoy the water, the cool chlorinated spray
And if you get in trouble I'll be there in a flash
To fish you right out and rescue your ...
...Your shorts are slipping down.
Let me retie your drawstring. There. That's better...
Face your fear. Learn to swim, and you'll be having fun.
Just remember your sunscreen 'cause you roast in the sun.
Now, let's play a game. There. What do you think?
I'm glad you're finally having fun, but it's time to go. You're turning pink.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
before we grew apart
i dreamt of you dying
of your mother
clutching your voice, crying
in the chlorinated stands
where we met for the first time
she holds out the phone,
says “say goodbye”
and i’m running
railing flying by
reaching through thick air
to the mother who buries her boy
and i don’t know
if i made it in time
and i mustn’t have
cause we haven’t talked in a while
and i woke up smelling chlorine
and i never got a goodbye
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 3:19 AM UTC
Milk thistle, Queen Anne’s Lace, and other
nameless weeds have won the battle for the roadsides.
The flowering trees have had their shining afternoons,
and now they retire to green on green.
August stands at the deep end of the swimming pool,
where the water is still somewhat cool, gem blue.
Her shoulders are freckled and hunched and she glances
over the yard at the houses bleaching under the sun.
The young girl sits with her pale feet in the shallow end
like magnolia petals set adrift by the light breeze.
She is singing a hymn for the first day of June,
her small voice hums like bees through the air.
The chlorinated water is an ocean laid out between them.
A promise was made but not meant to be kept.
Something wordless, felt but not understood, smelling
like the sea but tasting like sweat, and she will sing of it
until her throat can sing no more.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
What's with you?
Have you lost the taste for my hot chocolate?
Un pisquito de miel es mi toque especial,
El que le da el colorsito que te encanta,
Y el sabor caramelito... plus a secret ingredient.
¿Si te acuerdas como te encantaba?
Developed a taste for cafe con leche.
Looks more like leche con cafe.
Bland, Blanched and Baptized,
None of the creaminess you claimed to love
About my hot, hot chocolate.
Ya no te inspiran las ventanas de mi profundo mar,
Mysteriously Deep, Intriguingly Complex,
With so much life calmly swimming underneath
My tormented surface.
Te acuerdas como te mesia dentro de mis olas fria y tibias a la vez,
Y tu feliz de embriagarte de ellas
Ahora nadas dentros de lagos azul verdozos
Aqua seafoam, algae, lagoon
A mi me parecen aguas estancadas,
Y no la calma que vez tu.
Me decias que no te gustaban las piscinas
Falsas,
Chlorinated,
Pero ya no nadas en las ventanas de mi profundo mar.
You stare into the horizon and miss the point completely.
Como es que te gusta tanto algo que es tan diferente a lo que yo te ofreci?
Quizas yo he cambiado mi forma de cocinar,
y tu tus gustos al nadar...
Quizás.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
you say you’re sorry
but, love, that just doesn’t cut it anymore.
i.
the city lights twinkled in every direction around us
as the wind blew and our hair flew and
I spread my arms to fly as you clung to the rooftop.
you apologized on the way downstairs
and I forgave you because not everyone is brave enough to let go.
ii.
you called me, crying and apologizing, late
the night before christmas eve.
I listened to your voice quiver
and your sighs and your shaky inhalations
and I forgave you because I knew you had lashed out while you were hurt.
iii.
I submerged my head for a moment beneath the chlorinated, sloshing mess
and felt the dull yank of the jets and my shorts billow out.
steam billowed off my shoulders and the surface of the water
as I inhaled and looked skyward.
the stars blurred and danced without my glasses
and I forgave you because I knew how terrifying it could be to have only yourself in such a big world.
iv.
my forgiveness scared you and you left yet again.
my heart aches and my head aches and it’s so very hard to sleep.
I wonder if you think about me and if you’re regretful anew
and if you’re biding your time so that I forget the promise you made
to not play this game again.
I will forgive you in time, love,
because I don’t believe in being unhappy over the past,
but you are not excused and you are not forgiven
and no matter how much I adore your freckles and
the way your face lights up when you laugh and
how you feel so deeply and care so ******* much,
despite the fact that I know you’re terrified
and that you don’t know how to operate properly,
you have to clean up the entirety of your messes
before you can slip back into my life.
I love(d) you. but you’ve been quite the daft boy this time.
enough.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
it's not the burning alive that's really that bad,
it's that it lasts forever
after a while you get used to the pain
if your heart and your mind work together
it's not the water in your lungs that's really that bad,
if your mind is already sick with fever
cool chlorinated water feels refreshing
and you eventually forget to reach for the drain lever
it's not the bloodletting that's really that bad,
I feel lighter on my feet already
a foggy film shades my eyes
for my final judgement I am dressed and ready.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC
I am from rubber soles squeaking on wooden floors
from lined notebooks and snow days three inches deep.
I am from floral quilts and the revving of engines
lake days, cake days, for goodness’ sake days.
I am from the weaving grapevine,
the Bradford Pear
in my grandmother’s backyard
(creaking, cracking, falling, dead).
I’m from crooked bangs and pencil dust,
from green eyes centered on the floor.
I’m from first-hand-up in the very front row
and the scent of musty libraries
from Look Alive! and Are You Alright?!
I’m from Father-Son-Holy-Spirit
and etched gold crucifixes,
from stained glass and
stern glances across
crowded pews.
I’m from rollercoaster rides and the neighbourhood pool
(over chlorinated, over rated, tasting of
sunscreen and whitewashed summers)
burgers and fries at all hours of the day.
From the husband my father’s mother lost
to his own selfishness,
the six boys Raised Right but still in
varying states of decay.
My horizons are set on landscape,
portrait placed in my sealed memory box.
Maps littered with push-pins,
photos cluttered with noise,
a family so long and wide it can be suffocating.
I am from flowering branches,
from making something out of nothing --
a mural of swirling trials and tribulations
painted upon my beating heart.
I am from stars nestled in my ribcage and
forgiveness running through my veins,
inching my way up the family tree.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
The midway queen
And her glossy posse
Flutter in formation
Up and down the B-29s and the AN-24s;
On the prowl and on a mission
To drop the bomb on Bobby
As they swoop past his snow cone cart.
They call themselves the Wing Women.
They call themselves the Tail Gunners.
They call themselves the Shotgun Girls,
And there’s powder residue in their curls.
Tail Gunners haunt the midway strip at twilight,
Feasting on the fiddle music
And old time pedal steel
That haunt a country boy’s heart.
But the sun has already checked out,
Along with Bobby and his shop pals--
Slipped off in granddad’s Cadillac
With a jug of John Henry
And a bag of M-80’s
Billy brought down from Decatur.
They’ve headed for the low country;
Toward the clinking of green glass,
The hollering of the swamp hounds,
And the flannel sheet warmth of the river folks.
Back on the midway,
Shotgun Girls peel off one by one
Like petals from a flower,
Pedaling back to rose scented spreads
Garnished with chlorinated pools and garden parties.
But the midway queen pilots on;
Around the Stewart’s root beer stand,
Through a cloud of Blazing Swine smoke,
Past the kind-eyed ice cream lady,
And into the seedy underbelly
Where clown grins lurk behind balloon tosses
And rebel flag trailer curtains lace the landscape.
Understanding her defeat,
The midway queen retreats
To her own suburban sprawl,
Places her crown on the dresser,
And gazes through open windows
Into her Georgia sky,
Wondering what it’s like to be a constellation--
Wondering if constellations come up with five-year plans--
Wondering if she should do the same.
The midway queen quivers
In her new found old time way,
And drifts off into a glassy sea
Of crackling Tammy Wynette records
And broken heart banquets.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC
let me go
let me float
in the pool by myself
till I sink to bottom
like the stone that is my heart
maybe as the chlorinated water fills my lungs
I’ll finally have some clarity
as the blue water fades to white maybe
I'll finally know how to do what’s right
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Autumn leaves fall
Seven meters per second
This is how we pray
Why pray that they stay
Suspended in air
The ground miles beyond perception.
And this is how we sin
Already three feet in
Stagnant pool water
Chlorinated.
Drowning
In a motel lot.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 11:42 AM UTC
hi.
the sunlight behind your ribs
is too bright
for a boy wearing sunglasses.
even though you could drown
in his deep-blue chlorinated eyes,
his heart is not an olympic-sized swimming pool
(like yours).
when it comes down to it,
he will stomp on your garden heart,
and laugh as the petals of your eyes
crumble under his adidas basketball shoe.
you deserve a boy
who will ogle
the marble you are carved from.
you deserve all of the love that you give,
in handbaskets
and hugs
and passing smiles.
stop comparing yourself
to the skinny
straight-toothed
soccer girls
who seem to receive all of the love.
all of the boys have come to be
blonde-haired
blue-eyed
heartbreakers.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 10:36 AM UTC
or priceless, last night
when the couple at the table
next to us at this little pizzeria
unexpectedly paid for our dinner
after I was fairly sure we had been
disrupting them, being well, six -
talkie, wiggly, silly, droppy...
we thanked them and then he said
you have a really well-behaved kid
which was, like, a really big deal
as most days I feel like
an inept kitten herder
except my herd is one
or two, if you count feistypaws
think they both don’t know
I’m the legit pack leader
and are vying for alpha
against one another, but
maybe I’m not doing
so bad
after all
after that
we made penny wishes
in the fountain outside
which is something I
never do alone, because generally
way jaded re: assigning my lofties to
depreciating currency deposits
in chlorinated public fountains
his: for me to get a thousand dollars
(to share with him)
mine: for him and me to have
all the love in the world
and for everyone everywhere
to be happy, free and get what they need
decided to toss in another penny
in case that sounded greedy
to the public plumbing fairy
and still my
insecurity is processing
whether they really thought
he was well-behaved and
enjoyed watching us or just
felt sorry for me
two-top charity...
I should prolly
take out my bad brain
that made me think that thing
and put in my good brain
as my kid likes to say
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Falling slowly into blue, clear skies. The sun ripped from its cloud and fogged, muddy in a crystal pool
Blink
Feel full of heavy wet thoughts, feel full of bright light from the world away.
Blink
Feel immersed, scattered and diffused, splashing and flailing in less than gravity, in more than pressure, in one, In a million.
Eyes close
Hear them, swelling and screaming, answering to the ripple now the wave, answering to the wave and the goliath through an infinite amount of david.
Hear the finite amount of me, the muffled muscles using fingertips to scrape the edge of the horizon, piercing to the other end of that universe of light, that universe of breath and that universe of different molecules.
Float and Blink
Open eyes paint a portrait of panic, of perfect balance and finger prints sliding into the deep end.
Open Eyes
And find myself in the deepest end, remembering how small I am now, tiny 4 foot body in even tinier 10 foot pool.
Gliding slowly, watching sunlight enter and energize chlorinated molecules of H2O, rays of broad bright becoming bland broken bits.
Failing myself, body gives in to the heavy wet, I feel endless in the wave between the surface and the floor,
Endless in the breath caught between tight lips and shriveling lungs.
And infinite again, I feel endless in the water, endless between my lungs and poison prison water cells.
Breath in the darkening sunlight,
The deafening Goliath,
Created by a million little bits of water.
And sunlight rises again, over the horizon of the 10 foot pool. Molecules sliding from my body, particles separating from my skin. Ejecting from my lungs.
A new David standing above me, the Goliath unflinching near me.
Breathing slowly into clear, blue skies.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
for all eternity: all I wanted was just to breathe the chlorinated mind that I closed to peak.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC